


Set 'em Up, Bartender

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Challenge Response, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Swiss-Cheese Memory, mid-leap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps into a bartender, and learns that mixing drinks is more than what it's cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set 'em Up, Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the September 2000 Slash Writers story challenge – "Set 'em Up, Bartender": The challenge indicated a website (no longer up) that had a listing of 'sexual' drinks (i.e., Sloe Comfortable Screw against the Wall with Satin Pillows the Hard Way), and we had to take a drink (or several drinks) and work it into the story. All these drinks are real ones I found there. This was previously published in _Angel & the Dreamer_, issue #6. Putting up here as part of Throwback Thursdays.

There are leaps from hell and then there are leaps from HELL. Normally, this one would be considered one of my easier leaps – all I had to do was save some kid from being shot at the bar where my 'host', Carl, worked. But that was before I realized what kind of bar Carl worked at.

"My God, Al, look at some of these drink names!"

"What? That stuff? Looks like a typical Saturday night for me." My holographic sidekick, one Al Calavicci, was being his usual lecherous self as he gazed over my shoulder at the drink menu, as I desperately tried to familiarize myself with the contents of Carl's 'repertoire' at "The Sex Factory Bar". And I . . . I was blushing down to my toes with some of the creations that grazed the near pornographic bar menu.

"Hey, Carl," came the call from one of the waitresses, "we've got an order for a Fuzzy Dick!"

"A WHAT?"

"Hey, Sam, don't worry about it," Al said, stepping through the bar to look at the contents of the alcohol shelf behind me. "You're supposed to be a bartender, right? You can't act like you've never heard of these drinks before."

"But I haven't. I don't have a clue how to make any of these!"

"Just pour Kahlua and Grand Marnier into some coffee, and top it off with whipped cream."

"Don't tell me you've been a BARTENDER, too?" I was starting to wonder if there was anything in this world Al hadn't done at one time or another. Like I should complain – his varied background experiences had saved my butt on more than one leap.

"Nah, but you'd be surprised how easy it is to pick up a girl when you order a Sloe Comfortable Screw Against the Wall with Satin Pillows the Hard Way." Why did that NOT surprise me?

"A WHAT?" I couldn't let my newfound jealousy I've been experiencing toward my best friend's antics show through, so I worked with my shock – as usual.

"Jeez, Sam, for a genius, you don't have a very big vocabulary."

"Are you telling me that's an actual drink?"

"Yeah. Think about it," he said, and put on his face the expression I've come to associate with an upcoming 'lecture' on life. "'Sloe' is for the Sloe gin, the 'Comfortable' is Southern Comfort, 'Screw' for the OJ in it, Galliano gives us 'Against the Wall', Frangelico for the 'Satin Pillows', and whiskey . . . ."

"Gives us 'the hard way', I get it," I said, exasperated. "So, for the . . . the Fuzzy Dick," I said, feeling the blush creep up on my face, "all I do is pour this Kahlua . . . ."

"Hey, hey, watch it. Gotta handle it . . . ."

"Let me guess – like a woman." There always seemed to be a woman in his analogies. Made the sexual attraction I felt toward him even more hard (pun intended) to handle.

"No, actually. I was gonna say handle it like it was your cock."

"My WHAT?"

"Y'know, Sam, you REALLY need to work on your vocabulary."

"Obviously, if I just heard you say I should handle this liquid like my . . . my . . . ."

"C'mon, Sam, I bet you can't even say it," he said, a daring look in his brown eyes.

"I'm still trying to figure out why you said it, Al." I gave him a look, trying to not let my desire for him not show in my voice, my face.

"Carl, I need that Fuzzy Dick right away. And should I know why you're talking to yourself?"

Damn. Sometimes I forget that no one but me can see Al on leaps. "Uh, practicing lines, Lisa."

"Good save, Sam. Love it when you're an actor. We can almost have a half-way decent conversation."

"You're telling me to handle a Kahlua bottle like it was my penis and you're telling me this is a half-way DECENT conversation?" I didn't even want to know. Did I? With the Swiss cheese effect leaping gave me, I always had trouble remembering parts of my life.

"Sure! We used to have conversations like this all the time when we were . . . ."

"When we were what?" I was sure he was about to say something about my life that he wasn't supposed to, and any fear I felt as to what he was going to say was overwhelmed by the curiosity I felt whenever I got any kind of tidbit of information about my life.

"Uh . . . . Nothin'." He gave me a piercing look, then rambled, "I mean, friends. When we were friends. We always talked about sex when we were . . . friends."

"Oh . . . okay."

"Now, add the Grand Marnier, just a smidge."

"Just a smidge, right. And that makes a . . . a Fuzzy Dick, huh?" I still had problems saying it.

"Damn, part of me wishes I not only was there, but not on the wagon. I've always had a weak spot for Fuzzy Dicks."

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

"Huh?" He actually looked confused for a brief moment, then continued, "Oh, the double entendre. Glad you're catchin' onto the game, Sam."

"Game? What game? All this is is someone with too much time on their hands, coming up with drink names that should make even someone like _you_ blush."

"And I suppose you're gonna act like you never had Sex on the Beach?"

"WHAT?"

"Sam, we really . . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," I interrupted, "I gotta work on my vocabulary. Are you sitting there . . . ."

"Standing," he blithely corrected me.

"Okay . . . standing there telling me I like Sex on the Beach?"

"Hell, kid, you couldn't get enough of it. Especially when we'd go to Hawaii."

"Are you telling me I used to make stuff like this?"

"Uh, yeah," he faltered. He gave one of his famous evil grins, and continued, "You did the best Blowjob I've ever had, I can tell you that."

"B . . . b . . . Blowjob?"

"Yeah. See, right there," he said, pointing, "1/2 shot of Kahlua topped with whipped cream."

"Oh, the drink." Part of me had wished he had slipped away from talk about the drinks. But my friend, my very heterosexual friend, would never . . . .

"Yeah. What'd ya think I meant? The act?" he asked, giving me another look, this time one I couldn't quite interpret.

"Well . . . uh . . . yeah, I guess," I faltered, knowing that I had slipped past some invisible line in our friendship and hoping I hadn't ruined everything.

"Well, you did give pretty good head, now that I remember it."

"I did WHAT?"

"Oh, come on, Sam! Is that all you're gonna say to me tonight?"

"When you just told me I give great head, yes, I think I have a right to ask what the hell you're talking about! Were we . . . were we lovers, Al?" I asked, I hoped, I wished, I prayed.

"Sorry, pal, can't tell you that," he said, giving a slight grin. "You know the rules. If you don't remember it on your own . . . ." A lot of good those stupid rules of mine do me NOW.

"But you just told me I gave great head! How'd you know that, huh?"

"Uh . . . lucky guess?"

"Come on, Al. You can't just leave me hanging like this." I turned my hazel eyes to him, giving him the best puppy-dog look I had, knowing it wouldn't be long before he'd crumble.

"Carl, we need a Climax."

"Ah, another one of my favorites."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Of course he would try to change the subject. He always did when he accidentally let something about my personal life slip past those lips of his.

"Hey, just because you're the Prudent Prince doesn't mean I can't enjoy the occasional double entendre."

"So, how about a Fist Fuck?" I said, getting into the game. I saw his mouth drop slightly at my use of 'dirty' language, but he didn't even pause.

"Only with the right person."

"AL!"

"What? I'm bein' honest here. You need to grab the Triple Sec for the Climax, Sam."

"Thanks," I said, and grabbed the appropriate bottle. I turned to him, and decided to try and trip him up. "So, who would be the right person for a Fist Fuck?"

"Wait a minute. Are you askin' me for information on one of my sexcapades?"

"Considering I'll probably hear about it anyway, why not?" Why not? He was always regaling me with stories about his various sexual conquests.

"I'll have you know I wasn't plannin' on sayin' anything."

"Ah-ha! I finally call you on the carpet about one of your sex stories, and you walk away with your tail between your . . . uh . . . legs," I faltered as the words hit me. I smiled and said, "You know, sometimes I wonder how true some of those stories you tell me, Al."

"I'll have you know that everything I've told you is true," he said. He saw my look of disbelief, then said, "Well, most everything." He maintained his look at me, and guiltily continued, "Okay, some things are true." He finally dropped his head, admitting, "All right, I don't have quite the elevated reputation I've led you to believe." He raised his head back to look at me, saying, "But not when it comes to kinky stuff. If I tell you I've had a fist fuck, I mean it. I just fudge on the names and facts a bit. But it's for your own good."

"My own good? How in the . . . why would you be worried about my reactions to your stories now? Least of all with regards to the names? Are . . . is it someone I should know?" Again, I hoped his earlier accident would lead me to more information about my life.

"You could say that." He was hedging, but I could tell he wasn't going to be very long in holding out against me.

"Well?" I finally said, after a long silence.

"Well what?"

"Well, don't leave me in suspense. Who did you have a fist fuck with?" By now, I was beyond blushing at every little word, it almost becoming commonplace in this odd conversation I was having with my holographic best friend.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah – you've got me curious."

"You may not like the answer."

"C'mon, Al. I've heard more out of that mouth of yours in the past God-knows how many years of leaping than I probably have since I met you. I don't think you could say anything that would surprise me now."

"It's you."

"Okay, I was wrong. It's who?" I had to have misheard him.

"You, Sam. You're the one I had a fist fuck with." Okay, maybe I didn't mishear him.

"Me?" Part hope, part dread, and the worst part was I wasn't sure which one was the stronger.

"Told ya you may not like the answer."

"I . . . I didn't say I didn't like it," I faltered. "I'm . . . I'm just . . . I guess surprised is the right word. We are lovers, aren't we?" And just in case he decided to go back to the 'rules' again, I gave him the full show of my puppy-dog look, my pout on my mouth, and my hands on my hips in my 'don't mess with me' stance.

"Well, we were," he slowly admitted, looking away.

"What the . . . . What do you mean, we were?" Here he was, telling me not only that my desires weren't just wishes, but based on an actual history, and he dared put it in the past tense?

"Well, I don't know if you seem to remember, but you've been gallivantin' all about the time stream for the past few years. And not only did you not even remember me at first, when you did finally remember, I was just your good buddy Al. In the meantime, you've been screwin' everything that moves."

"I've been . . ." I stopped myself before I said the word 'what'. "Al, I have not," I protested. "I've been acting the part. Isn't that what Ziggy told me I needed to do? Act like the people I'm supposed to be in?"

"Oh, and I suppose you were acting like Abigail's lover when you just 'had to have her'?"

"Abigail?" I asked, confused. The name didn't sound familiar to me.

"You know, that Swiss cheese memory sure is damn convenient. How is it you only forget the things that are uncomfortable to you?"

"Oh, and I suppose you would put our 'relationship' under that label of uncomfortable?" I spat out, realizing he may actually be happy with the fact that I didn't remember us.

"Shit, Sam, you're changing the subject again."

"The subject being . . .?"

"The subject being that you have no right to get all high and mighty about my sex life when yours is just as bad."

"But you're telling me that we're lovers, Al," I tried to explain. "That's a bit much for me to accept. I mean, up until a few minutes ago, I thought all we were to each other were friends. Good friends, true, but just friends nonetheless. Now . . . ."

"Carl, watch out what you're doing! You could get hurt, tryin' to hurl those bottles around like that."

"Sorry – just trying to imitate Tom Cruise."

"Tom who?"

"Damn, this is '79, isn't it?" I asked Al under my breath. "Cruise hasn't even been in _Risky Business_ yet, let alone _Cocktail_ ," I said, more to myself. To the waitress, I covered, "Nothing, Jennifer. Just trying to make the job fun."

"That was a close one, Sam," Al said to me, pointing to the waitress. "Don't want to . . . hey, how can you remember Tom Cruise's filmography but not a woman you slept with on a prior leap?" he asked me, his eyes perking up at this inconsistency.

"Selective, I guess," I said, wanting to change the subject about my prior conquests and get it back to the topic of us. "So, when you said I liked Sex on the Beach . . . ."

"Yeah, it's a pain gettin' sand up your ass, but you would insist," he said with an impish grin.

"So . . . do you still . . . uh . . . hell, Al, I'm not good at this," I said, exasperated. "Do you still love me?" I asked, deciding it would be best if we just got it out in the open.

"Do you?" he countered.

"Damn it, Al – that's not fair," I whined. "I don't even remember being your lover! Does . . . does what I do get to you?" I asked him, remembering a few of the leaps where I had made love.

"About as much as my tales of women get to you, Sam," he countered with a devilish look.

"In other words, yes it does," I answered, sighing.

"I've often wondered if your prudery towards my sex stories were more from jealousy than your prurient upbringing."

"Yeah," I admitted shyly.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Al?" I asked, looking back at him.

"I still love you," he said slowly, carefully. He gave a grin and said, "Despite everything you've done in your leaps. Both here and at the project."

"My leaps have screwed with the project?" I asked, wondering what I would find if and when I ever leaped home.

"You have no idea." The tone in his voice made me think I may not like what I've been doing to my future with my meddling about the time stream.

"Oh." What else could I say?

"Yeah, oh."

"Al?" I said, wanting to let him know what I've been going through the past few leaps.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"I love you, too," I hastily admitted. I gave my own shy grin, and continued, "I have for quite a while. Figured you'd deck me if I ever said anything."

"I'm a hologram, Sam. How could I deck you?"

"You know what I mean," I sighed, exasperated. I tried to explain, "I cared too much for you to screw it up over some dreams I had."

"Dreams?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah. Let me tell you, lately I've been suffering from #34," I said, deciding then and there that I loved him regardless of everything that had gone on between us. And I wanted him. Bad.

"What?" he asked, looking back at the drink menu. A look of disbelief crossed his face as he read, "A Bartender's Wet Dream? Jeez, Sam, I'm gonna have to start re-thinkin' the way your mind works!"

"Promise me one thing, Al," I said, not wanting the Swiss cheese effect to ever be a barrier to us again.

"What, Sam?"

"Will you remind me the next time I . . . I'm with someone that you . . . that you and I . . . ."

"That we both like a shot of Jack Daniels and Tequila?" he asked, his own forgiveness of my actions inherent in his voice.

"A shot of Jack Daniels and . . . . A BUM FUCKER?" I asked, a sudden visual of the two of us together in that position filling my mind (and other parts of my anatomy).

"Yeah, I'll remind ya, Sam," he said, giving the expected laugh at my reaction. He turned sober for a minute, saying, That is, if I won't get in trouble from the committee for revealing your past to you."

"What about our future, Al?"

"What about it?"

"When I get back to you, can you promise me a #22?" And I turned a mirror image of his impish grin back to him.

"What?" he asked. He read, "A Screaming Orgasm?" A short laugh followed, then he continued, "Yeah, I think I can handle it. You get the Baileys, I'll supply the Vodka and Kahlua."

"Done." So, he forgave me and I forgave him, and all was good with the world because we were lovers – despite the fact that I was several hundred miles and a couple of decades away from the man who appeared just as a hologram to me.

"Oh, there's your charge, Sam," he said, pointing to the teenager who just walked into the bar, the nonverbal communication clearly indicating the fake ID that must've got him in.

"Damn," I swore with a smile. "And I was just getting the hang of all this dirty talk."

"Well, if you're anything like you were before you left, there will be plenty of it when you get back. Go save that kid from the gunshot, 'kay?"

"As always. See ya next leap?"

"Always, love. Always."


End file.
